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The curtain of water parted to let the ruler of Flower Fruit Mountain through. Wukong yawned, fresh out of a nap under the sun after a feast of fruits, his fur neat and shiny from the many little hands of his dear subjects.
It was another perfect day, with even less responsibilities than he ever had. With his successor well on his way to pick up the slack on his feats of heroism, Wukong had become closer to the life he had always dreamed he one day would have: spending his days eating fruit under the sun, doing whatever he wanted, free from all worries.
And as he had for the past five centuries, he would keep on ignoring the pit of gnawing emptiness that had been slowly numbing his heart.
Sealing away the Demon Bull King, the last of his old friends that still remained, had broken something within him. The knowledge that he had been saving him from a harsher sentence had not been enough to make it hurt any less.
For the first time in his life, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven had given up. Left his staff behind. Left everything behind, but his kingdom.
A kingdom that had felt so different from the life he had known a long, long time ago, where whispers of laughter and songs haunted the deserted caves, bringing him back to simpler times. Before all the losses he had experienced in his long life. Losses he had tried so hard to prevent, and all for nothing.
His search for immortality had been successful. Forever had been in his grasp for much longer than he had been mortal.
What he had failed to realize, back then, was how long a time the forever he had been dreaming of could be. How many things could change. How many people could leave.
Sha Wujing, Zhu Bajie, Ao Lie, Tang Sanzang. The Golden-Winged Peng, Yellowtusk the Wise, the Azure Lion, the Demon Bull King, The Six-Eared Macaque.
Marshal Ma, Marshal Liu, General Beng, General Ba. And all the monkeys that had been lost to the flames...
Each of them, he had cared for. Each of them, he had been heartbroken to lose.
But as with many things still, he had yet to learn his lesson.
MK...
Wukong had promised himself, when he had seen that kid, when he had gotten this strange feeling, that he would not grow attached, and let him figure things out on his own. That he would keep his distance, physically, emotionally.
A tall order, when he could not help but keep an eye on the kid and give him pointers.
He told himself it was to start him off. That he would burn that bridge when the time would come, before either of them could get hurt.
Chances were the kid would leave of his own volition once he would come to see the mountain of shame and mistakes Wukong carried on his back. He would become another name on the list of Wukong's acquaintances that would greet him with a frown, at best.
But it would be better this way, for the both of them. And for MK's friends, whose existence Wukong refused to acknowledge.
Yes, it would be better for Wukong to fade into the obscurity of myths, and let the Monkie Kid shine.
He was sure of it. Nothing could ever sway him back from this choice.
The waterfall was returned to its usual flow when the wards were activated once again, leaving Wukong in the silence of the cave's entrance. He walked to the bridge, scratching at his back with a bamboo cane, poofing it back into a strand of hair when he was done.
He headed for his hut, making sure that the door to his treasure room was closed as he walked past it. Doing so, his gaze lingered on the nearby mural that depicted the Great Companions, the painting having faded over the centuries, same as the grief Wukong felt over the loss of his brothers and Master.
His confident younger self looked back at him. With just a glimpse, Wukong could see what had people enthralled by the Journey, enough that his lawyer would still send him messages about new deals, new depictions of his and the pilgrims' likenesses.
He could understand them, proud of this part of his past, in spite of it all.
But if only some things had been just that little bit different...
Wukong tore his gaze away from the past. He left the area, stretching out his arms as he walked, while he thought about what he would do next. Maybe he could binge one of the hundreds of shows and comics that featured him while stuffing his face with peach-flavored chips, or play one of his games for the next fifty hours or so, or, heck, take another nap?
He had yet to make his choice, when he heard a familiar voice.
One he had never expected to hear again.
“Nice mural.”
Wukong froze, standing in the threshold of the cavern that held his hut.
Trying to calm down his heart.
He took a deep breath, and turned around. Bracing himself to see...
Dark fur that shone, even in the dim light. A red scarf, loose and tattered by the damage of a battle. A deceptive air of nonchalance.
Macaque.
There he was, half-leaning against a crumbled pillar with his arms crossed, facing away from him as he looked up at the paintings on the wall.
Wukong took a few steps back into the mural's room, and studied what he was seeing. It would not be the first time that one of his clones had gone rogue and taken on Macaque's appearance...
And he had discarded a strand of hair earlier.
He had hoped that he had long since moved on from this type of incident, but he figured DBK's return had awakened a repressed desire to see Macaque also come back to him.
Wukong already had enough of this farce. He was about to will that clone out of existence, when said clone turned its head around. The first thing Wukong noticed was the right side of its face; the scar.
The eye was a milky, empty white, a far cry from the gentle copper it had once held.
It was a sight that filled Wukong with regret and anguish.
The vision before him gave a twisted grin.
“Yo. Long time no see, Your Majesty.”
Wukong gritted his teeth and frowned. This clone had definitely overstayed its welcome.
As he willed it to, it finally disappeared.
But its absence did not bring Wukong his expected relief. Because the clone had not poofed in a blur of golden light.
It had sunk itself into a shadow. Wukong's shadow.
A fact that filled Wukong with dawning horror, as empty laughter echoed around the room.
“What's wrong, Monkey King? You look like you've seen a ghost!”
Wukong gulped, feeling as if his body had gone cold, and his heart had stopped.
He could not believe that he was about to speak that name out loud after all these years. So much so that he could barely get it past his lips, and only in the softest of whispers.
“... Macaque?”
Because that was him. It had to be. Who else could make themselves so easily at home in his shadow?
He was here. Breathing. Alive.
But how?
Stunned, Wukong watched as the darkness at his feet stretched on farther, until it reached the mural and covered it. The outline of Macaque's shadow form fit perfectly onto Wukong's painted portrait, making his eyes and mouth glow purple.
“Oh, so you do remember me! Phew! For a moment there, I thought these guys were more important to you than I ever was.”
Macaque's forcefully playful demeanor gave way to a raw bitterness. “Oh, wait...”
Wukong had a world of trouble staying focused on Macaque's words, his vision swimming for an instant, as he took a disoriented step forward.
“You... you...” He came back. Macaque was dead, his soul nowhere to be found, no matter how hard Wukong had looked, but he had come back. “How are you here?”
Macaque grinned again, but it felt wrong. So very wrong, so unlike the soft smiles of the beloved best friend who had shared his younger years. “Wouldn't you like to know? But I'm not telling.”
“But you died, you were dead! I-”
I buried you.
I mourned you.
“Killed me? Yeah. Don't worry though, I'll make it even soon enough!”
Wukong paid no mind to that supposed threat, more concerned with hiding from Macaque the way that his hands had started to tremble. Memories he had long ago locked away along with anything that had once belonged to Macaque were trying to resurface, bringing with them that vivid grief that could so easily torture him.
Macaque disappeared again, his voice and laughter coming from all sides as the shadows circled Wukong.
“You know, I've caught wind of a big fan of yours running around with your powers and your heavy stick. Your successor, right? Never thought I'd see the day!”
Of course Macaque knew about MK. This was far from a surprise, but still bad news, enough for Wukong to feel a shock of fear and anxiety for the kid's sake.
Macaque was no DBK. He could be far more dangerous.
He had proven that, time and time again. For better...
And for worse.
“If you do anything to hurt him, I-”
“Really?” Macaque said with a mocking chuckle. “You're worried about what I could do to the kid?”
Wukong felt Macaque's sudden presence behind him, and turned around to find a strange sight: exposed as he was out of his shadows, Macaque had his back to him.
Soft and somber, he said, “I wonder how long it'll take before you break him too?”
Wukong gasped, wanting to defend himself, but the words did not come to him.
For that was one of his fears. Not least of all because of the one who was standing, back from the dead, right in front of him.
Macaque went back to his air of nonchalance and attempted coolness, putting his hands on his hips as he turned to face Wukong.
“You know...” He smirked. “Maybe it would be for the best if I spared him the suffering, hm?”
That did not sound good.
“What do you mean?...”
But Macaque was already dropping back into a shadow.
“See you around, Monkey King.”
And just like that, he was gone, as if he had never been there.
Wukong was almost ready to believe it had all been his imagination, but...
His scent lingered in the air. Just the same as it ever was, even as Wukong had expected to pick up on traces of cold, wet dirt, or the clinging stink of death.
It had been so long since Wukong had been able to sense the proof of Macaque's presence within Flower Fruit Mountain, that it almost made him want to cry.
But unlike in those golden days of yore, the darkness of the cave felt oppressive. He would need to find some way to get some more light in there.
In the meantime, Wukong let himself fall to his knees
His choice was made: he would definitely have a go with another nap.
*
More haunting than an actual ghost, Macaque kept tormenting him.
Though he had steered clear of Flower Fruit Mountain since that first confrontation, he had no qualms about pestering Wukong anywhere else in the world.
And most of these encounters would happen inside or around Megapolis, whenever Wukong would come to check on his protégé, something that had become even more of an occurrence with Macaque being around.
They would not fight, outside of one-sided verbal jousts. Wukong had no interest in wasting his breath if it did not lead him to answers about Macaque's return to life.
He could tell that being ignored and denied frustrated Macaque to no end, but he had no intention of taking the bait. He really did not want another go, not with how their last battle had ended.
If he ever dove into his memory, Wukong was sure he would be able to hear Macaque's screams from its depths. And he was not planning on experiencing that again: once had been enough for a thousand lifetimes.
Besides, the Monkey King was retired, and that was final. He would not go back into the fray, having made sure that his days of beating up demons had been literally and metaphorically passed on.
So he ignored Macaque. To his face.
But he could not ignore the threat that he posed.
As small a consolation as it was, MK had been ecstatic when he had learned that the Monkey King wanted to personally train him more. His raw enthusiasm had chased away some of the gloom that came from the circumstances of Wukong’s offer.
And it had even been nice, having someone else up on the mountain after centuries spent in isolation, a sparring partner to trade friendly blows with. It even was somewhat rewarding to keep track of his kid's progress, to see how quickly he was learning.
Which was a problem: Wukong was growing even more attached. And he was fighting again, training again, picking up on his own slack, just in case.
Leave it to Macaque to ruin a perfectly good plan.
Speaking of the devil...
“Hey. Nice weather we're having.”
Wukong sighed at the lamest opener Macaque had used yet – another satisfying proof that he was wearing him down. He tried to keep his attention on the little monkeys, whose jaws had dropped at the sight of the newcomer.
Right. He may have forgotten to bring the news of Macaque’s return over to the residents of the Monkey Village. Said residents wasted no time in swarming Macaque, smothering him under a pile of fur and excited chirps.
That sight had Wukong conflicted. Back in the day, he would have plunged into that pile in a heartbeat.
“Ugh! Get off!” He heard Macaque complain, muffled as it was.
A second later, the pile's shadow grew bigger, Macaque coming out of it. The furry tower toppled, the little guys all confused.
Macaque dusted his clothes with a frown, his fur in disarray. In the past, this was the result of the monkey pile that Wukong counted the most on, giving him an excuse to spend time grooming Macaque's soft fur as he held him close, taking in his scent and his warmth like they were the most precious of treasures.
To his dismay, that need was still there, his hands aching to grab Macaque and go through the familiar motions. Thankfully, it was easy to suppress, especially with the angry pout on Macaque's face.
But when he turned to look at the monkeys, his demeanor softened. Wukong swore he saw a smile, as brief as that had been. It was the first sincere smile he had seen from Macaque since he had come back.
Or even before...
The monkeys certainly picked up on it, getting excited again, chirping, hooting and cooing at each other, dispersing to go find some food to offer Macaque.
“So,” Wukong chose to talk, seeing an opportunity to turn the tables for once. “Up for beheading me in front of the kids? Gut me, maybe? I could make my intestines longer than they already are, you know, maybe you could tie me up and strangle me and-”
“What are you doing here?...” Macaque asked, uncharacteristically quiet.
Uncharacteristically... himself.
“Checking on my subjects? What do you think?” Wukong answered, relaxing as he saw that Macaque's shadow cudgel had not yet been materialized. “I was gonna hit up my temple too, but, y'know...”
He had been about to go do his monthly meditation, which was actually more of a good soak in absurd laziness, and included a screaming session before he would set up camp in there and stuff himself full of food while watching shows with his brain turned off. It was not so different from what he could already do from within his hut, but at least the location brought some novelty, and was soundproofed.
This time, he had even planned to share some of that food with his war form, which happened to be sealed in there. He hoped it would like the noodles – if it could even eat them.
If not, he would take for himself the three helpings he had ordered. Cooked food was far from his go-to, but it would shake things up.
But what shook him, at that moment, was the realization that those noodles would not be coming here on their own.
The kid-MK. He was on his way. Any moment he could arrive, and who knew what would happen if Macaque saw him?
MK was not ready yet.
Oblivious to his internal panic, Macaque spoke again.
“Your temple..?”
“Oh yeah, pff, this boring temple,” he said, gesturing lazily to said building from the courtyard they were standing in. “The locals built it a loooong time ago, heh, it's dated-not worth your time, really. Know what? There's not much for you to see here, actually, I think you should leave-”
“They built you a temple. Here.”
“Uh... duh? I mean, it’s on brand. I'm the Monkey King? It's the Monkey Village? With monkeys from Flower Fruit Mountain? Why wouldn't they build me one?”
“I'm well aware where those monkeys came from,” Macaque gritted out.
And that was when Wukong understood.
“What? Jealous they didn't build one for you?”
“No. Appalled that they would revere someone who had nothing to do with bringing the survivors here.”
Okay. Low blow. Wukong had been trapped under a mountain back then. And once he had been freed, he had no idea that there had even been displaced survivors.
He had only learned of that fact from some of his remaining subjects after the Journey had been over.
After...
After something he definitely did not want to think about at the moment.
In any case, if they were hitting below the belt, Wukong was in the mood to play along. Misery King liked to play dirty.
“Nah, I think you're just jealous. But if you hate being in my shadow so much, why are you still hanging around?”
“You know why.”
“Oh yeah?” Wukong asked with growing frustration. Why wouldn't he just leave?!
“... Whatever. I'm not in the mood for this.” Macaque huffed. “You kill that kid's spirit yet?”
“My student's doing fine, thanks for asking! He's a good kid, quick learner too – not surprising since I’m the one teaching him,” Wukong said through gritted teeth and with the fakest smile he could put on. “He won a race with his friend the other day, you know?”
“Wonderful,” Macaque said with enough sarcasm that, had it been food, he could have fed a whole village for an entire winter.
On cue, the little monkeys came back, arms and pouches full of treats, eyes full of wonder and hope.
Wukong looked at them from behind Macaque while he was swarmed once again and climbed on, hoping that the older of the monkeys would be able to decipher what he wanted out of them.
Thankfully, they did. Surrounding Macaque, they hounded him until he gave in to their demands that he come with them to visit the rest of the village.
Away from the temple, and MK.
As he was forced to go with the flow of the little guys at his feet, Macaque turned around to frown at him.
“Next time, Monkey King, it's on sight.”
Wukong shrugged. “Sure.”
He disappeared through a shadow along with the little monkeys, grunting at them half-heartedly.
All Wukong had left to do was wait for his student to come over.
So he waited.
And waited.
MK took his sweet time. Wukong had been about to go look for him, worried Macaque had somehow come across him, when he finally heard some hurried banging on the gate.
*
The moment he sensed the unmistakable presence of Macaque's spell on MK, Wukong felt strangely calm.
Resigned.
His worry was still there, hand in hand with anger. Anger at Macaque for targeting MK and using him as a tool for their feud. Anger at himself for letting him fall into his clutches. And maybe a bit of frustration toward his student for falling so easily to an obvious trick and training with a stranger behind his back.
But he would not intervene. Not yet.
Set as he was, MK would not listen. He could not blame the kid for that, as it was clear Macaque had been making use of one of his finest talents: manipulation. One that he would not have been able to use so effectively, had Wukong not been taking such a detached approach to MK and his training since the very beginning.
A small part of Wukong was also counting on Macaque to not cross the line. Unwise as he knew it to be, the trust he had put in Macaque long ago was still there and alive, influencing his actions. As harsh as Macaque's methods could be, and as shady as his intentions were, Wukong did not want to rush in before he had given Macaque a chance to go back on his scheme.
Something which could happen, if the brief glimpses of the best friend he used to know and adore had been any proof that he was still in there, somewhere.
And above all, there was another thing: MK had gotten stronger. Had gotten better. Way better. Maybe not enough to face Macaque, not yet, but the kid already had a history of doing more than Wukong had expected out of him.
If fate would have it, Wukong would not even have to get his butt off his cloud.
But he had never been one to leave things up to chance if he could help it.
So he kept a close eye on them as the days went by, keeping himself hidden. Until he followed them to Warrior Mountain.
He knew he was playing straight into Macaque's hand by coming there – that location was far from innocent, a perfect place for a rematch. But he could do little else but stay around, for MK's sake and safety.
His stomach twisting into knots, he watched the kid go against Macaque's war form, debating on making his entrance.
He chose not to.
There were some lessons MK needed to learn by himself. Ones Wukong could not ever properly teach him on his own.
And maybe, shamefully... Wukong had hoped to the very end that he would not need to jump in.
But when he saw MK trapped by the staff, powerless to do anything, at the mercy of a dangerous demon, he knew he had no other choice.
Macaque had gotten what he wanted. As bitter as Wukong was to admit it, he had won their little war of attrition.
It was time for the Monkey King to come back.
“Enough!”